


The Red Bridge Prince

by Dragonsigma



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fae & Fairies, Gen, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma
Summary: The boy blessed by the fairies would be a wise and noble king, or so the people said.





	

Have you heard the tale — _the lie they like to tell?_ A long time ago — _humans know nothing of Time —_ there was an old village in an old kingdom. One autumn, when the harvest was finished and there were no tasks to be done, the village boys ran through the woods hoping to catch a rabbit for the stew. But they could not find a single one — _because they scared them all away —_ and soon grew tired of searching. The oldest of the gang decided to abandon the hunt, and led the boys back to the village to bother the workers with tricks and pranks. The youngest, not wishing to cause trouble — _not wishing to be caught —_ stayed behind, and wandered in the forest.

  
Soon he approached a lake deep in the woods, and in the center of the lake was an island, the trees that crowded its surface waving bright leaves of gold and red _— our land, our land only._ The boy, entranced by the island's beauty _— beauty forbidden to him —_ walked around the edge of the lake until he came across a red wooden bridge where the shore was closest to the island. He stepped onto the bridge, the bright painted planks creaking under his feet. He was halfway to the island when dragonflies began to buzz around his face. Fascinated _— foolish curiosity_ — by their glittering wings, the boy made no attempt to swat them away.

  
When he reached the island, to his amazement, the insects became tiny winged fairies — _their foolish image of the Fae —_ who greeted him and led him into the trees. Their dragonfly wings were the same colors as the leaves, and sometimes the boy struggled to see them. But before long the dense trees opened into a clearing, and in the center of the clearing an ornate gold crown sat on a tree stump, an unnatural light illuminating its crest and spires -- _and so our grand pageant of chaos begins_. The boy stepped into the open space, the fairies scattering as he entered the light.

  
The boy reached his hand out to the crown on the stump, feeling metal unnaturally cool even in the strong light. He stared at his reflection in the gold surface for a moment, then placed the crown on his own head. As soon as he did so, the trees spun before his eyes and he found himself back in the forest _— he had walked on our lands for far too long —_ the red bridge stretching out in front of him. Behind him, as if on cue, horse hooves thundered through the trees.

  
A dozen of the King's best horsemen surrounded the boy. Their captain set his eyes on the crown on the his head, and demanded to know how the boy had come in possession of it, as it was an artifact from the castle’s deepest vaults.

  
The boy attempted to explain, but found it impossible to speak of the fairies. Silent, he tried to point towards the island, but when he turned around he saw only an open lake: no island, no bridge _— a most magnificent illusion._

  
“Thief!” the captain cried, grasping the crown and pulling it from the boy. He yelled orders to his men; the horsemen rode past the boy, the last snatching him up by his collar and dropping him on the horse.

  
They rode to the castle, where the still-mute boy was thrown in a dungeon with a pen and paper and told to write his story. The boy, intelligent as he was — _easily bent to our commands —_ wrote an elegant defense of himself, capable of convincing even the most skeptical judge — _even they cannot resist our charms._ The judge who saw this letter was so impressed that he gave it to the King, who was equally impressed by the boy's skill — _his letters but our words_. He was so impressed, in fact, that he pardoned the boy for the apparent theft and made him a royal scribe. The villagers were proud of such an honor given to one of their children, and sent him many gifts.

  
Years passed and the boy became like a son to the old King, and like a brother to the Prince. Because of him — _because of us_ — the kingdom's royal documents were written in the finest prose, gaining them many allies in the neighboring countries and avoiding many wars. His skill with words far surpassed that of any scribe in the kingdom; all of them were in awe of his writings.

  
The boy rode out hunting in the forest with the Prince in between writing his ever-persuasive letters. On these trips, the boy would always try to catch a glimpse of the strange island in the lake or the strange bridge leading to it — _foolish boy, to seek our domain —_ but he never could see them again _._

  
One day a letter arrived at the castle, brought by a messenger from a far-off land that the kingdom had recently made peace with _— our messenger, his land a creation of our making._ The scroll spoke of a young, beautiful _— they see such beauty in us —_ princess come of marriageable age, and of the gains that a union between her and the Prince would bring. This seemed a marvelous proposal to the Prince and the King, though the terms of the agreement meant the King would be left with no heir. Looking to the boy who was as his own child, the King agreed to the marriage, ordering an entourage prepared for the elder Prince's journey and a ceremony prepared to adopt the younger boy. The people of the kingdom trusted this boy who had been chosen by the fairies for his worth _— for his weakness._ Both ceremonies were arranged with royal speed and splendor; the boy was made heir, and on the same day the elder Prince set out to live a long life with his bride — _to die on our island beside a cold, laughing siren_.

  
Many more years passed, the kingdom all the while making agreements with nearby countries _— their armies only held at bay by our enchanting words_. The king grew old, content with his happy subjects and loving adopted son. One autumn, when the harvest was finished and there were no tasks to be done, he died in his sleep _— so easy for us to steal souls in dreams —_ leaving the kingdom to the boy who had arrived at the castle so many years ago. The people of the kingdom prepared for the succession _— the fall to chaos —_ certain in the knowledge that the new King's writing skill — _an inexperienced child sat on the throne and found the words missing from his mind —_ would keep their land at peace for decades to come.


End file.
